Grace’s hips and behind slightly jiggled as her shoes pounded against the pavement. Her stride was long and fast, so she disappeared down the road quicker than I would have liked. I could have watched her all day. Now that she was out of my line of sight, I could nally get back to collecting eggs.

“You got a thing for that girl or something?” Charlotte twisted up her nose.

It was more of an accusation than a question.

I let out an awkward laugh. “Of course not. She’s my house guest.” “Hmmph,” Charlotte said, pushing out her hip. “Could have fooled me.”

I shaded my eyes from the sun to get a better look at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“I saw the way you looked at her, the way you wrapped your arms around her.” Charlotte pursed her lips as she bent down to pick up a duck egg.

I dropped my hand and shrugged. “I was just helping her. I look at everyone that way.”

“Not quite, Calvin. If you did, people would think you were some kind of creep.” She laughed, but there was an edge of seriousness in her tone.

This was a side of Charlotte I hadn’t seen before. We’d been friends since childhood, and when I returned a year and a half ago, it felt like I’d never left. She had been my rock after my parents passed and again after Lisa’s tragic accident, and I think she felt it was her duty to protect me. I appreciated her care, but sometimes it felt a bit suffocating.

“Okay, maybe I look at her a little differently,” I admitted, pushing aside some tall grass in search of duck eggs. Sometimes I had to dig for them, since ducks would bury their eggs to keep them safe from predators—coyotes, foxes, raccoons, hawks, owls, and yes, even humans. We were all predators in some way.

Charlotte closed another egg container and stacked it in a crate. “I think she’s trouble.”

Just then, a duck egg slipped from my hand and smashed on the ground, bright blood swirling into the golden yolk. Bloody eggs were rare and came with superstitions. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind: See a bloody yolk? It means you’re going to die. I wondered if she had seen one before she passed—or if there had been two, one for her and one for my father. I closed my eyes for a moment, shaking the thought away. Bad memories have a way of sticking around; they’re the ones that linger the longest.

I opened my eyes and looked to Charlotte. “Why?”

“It’s just odd. Why would a woman travel alone and stay at a total stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere?” She stood and dusted o her hands.

“Lots of women do that these days. All a part of that feminist movement.” I kicked some dirt and grass clippings onto the bloody egg, covering it up.

“No, they don’t, Calvin.”

I gathered another handful of duck eggs, careful not to drop any of them. If one bloody egg meant death, I sure as shit didn’t want to nd out what any more of them meant.

“Grace is just independent, and she wanted a break from New York City.” I handed them over, and Charlotte placed them in another container.

“She’s weird.”

“Everyone from New York is a little weird,” I smirked.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and closed up two more containers, stacking them in the crate. “She’s sti , like a robot.”

“Maybe around you she is. But she ain’t that way around me.”

Char put her hand on my arm and looked up at me, her face turning

serious. “I’m just saying be careful with that girl. I think she’s bad news.”

Bad news was the only type of news I was familiar with so it didn’t make all that much of a di erence to me.

A high-pitched scream stole my attention. I knew it was Grace. She

screamed again, and I took o in a full sprint toward the driveway. Another scream. My feet pounded against the gravel, kicking up rocks and dirt.

“Grace!”

At the end of the driveway, I looked where the highway extended in both directions over atlands and rolling elds. Another scream made me whip my head to the tall grass between the road and the property fence. I took a few more quick steps and nearly tossed my breakfast. Grace was lying in a pit of dead animals underneath a lodgepole pine tree. e pit was the size of a car,

lled with a dozen animals all in di erent stages of decay. A freshly dead elk laid on top, its body torn open from one end to the other. Blood and sinew spilled out of it. Several puncture wounds and lacerations covered the neck and head. Grace was on her hands and knees, trying to crawl out of the sticky pit. She was covered in death—from fresh blood to maggots. Tears streamed down her face and her breath was quick and uncontrolled.

“Here, grab my hand,” I said, leaning down.

She looked up at me, hesitating for a moment, before extending hers. ere were several wiggly maggots stuck to her ngers. I pulled her up, and immediately she swatted her hands against her pants, squishing the maggots. She keeled over and retched onto the side of the road.

Charlotte caught up to me. Panting, she asked, “What is it?” “Dead animals.”

She rolled her eyes but stopped when she saw Grace behind me, covered in

blood and guts. Grace gagged again and vomited a splash of brown liquid onto the ground. Probably co ee from earlier.

Char twisted up her face. “Gross.”

I shook my head and delivered a stern look.

Grace gagged a few more times before standing upright. Even with the guts

and blood and vomit and maggots, she was still gorgeous to me.

“What could have done that?” Grace rubbed her hands against her leggings and pulled her shirt up to wipe her face with the underside of it. It just smeared the blood around though. “Why is there a pile of dead animals here?”

“Some animals drag their prey to a place they can safely eat it, so could be anything. We got grizzly bears, wolves, coyotes, you name it.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “ is ain’t New York, sweetie.”

Grace ignored her, staring at the dead animals instead. Her eyes narrowed as she studied them.

After a few moments of silence, Char turned on her foot. “I gotta nish up

with the eggs in the chicken coop,” she said, walking back toward the ranch.

I looked at the carcasses and then at Grace. She couldn’t take her eyes o of the pit. It was like watching a car crash. Not something you see every day, so your brain becomes fascinated by the mere sight, like it’s stimulated a new part of it.

“How’d ya fall in?” I asked.

It took her a moment to register my question and when she did, Grace glanced at me. “I heard something rustling. I got a little too close before I realized what it was. As you can see, it’s kind of hidden by long grass and weeds, and the branches o this tree hang low to the ground. I slipped right in.” She shuddered.

“I’m sorry, Grace. I’ll get animal control out here to clean it up. ese bones and carcasses are what’s attracting whatever’s killing to this spot.”

She took her eyes o of the pit and looked in my direction—not at me but beyond, staring intently at the ranch like she was seeing it di erently now. I wondered if she felt it. e curse. It was hard not to feel it. Death hung heavy in the air here.

I took a few steps toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed up, so I immediately pulled it back. “I wouldn’t let anything ever happen to you, Grace.”

Grace didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. ere was that silence I enjoyed

between us. A low nasal whine came from above. We both looked up, watching

several turkey vultures circle high in the air, waiting to swoop in for a meal. “Don’t worry. ey’re harmless,” I said. “ ey actually help keep the

environment clean and prevent the spread of diseases.”

I wasn’t sure why I shared that fact with Grace. I guess I just wanted her to feel safer. My gaze went to her again. e dried rust-colored blood made her blue, blue eyes pop. I wondered what it was she was thinking. Was she upset? Was she intrigued? Was she planning her exit now?

“I’m going to shower,” she nally said.

Grace walked apprehensively toward the ranch. Her arms were folded against her chest like she was trying to close herself o from everything around her. Dragging my hand down my face, I blew out my cheeks. is wasn’t the Wyoming I wanted to show her. It was beautiful, yes, but even beautiful places were ugly. Flies buzzed around the bloody carcasses, swooping in and picking at the rotting meat. Death wasn’t pretty.

I shook my head and made my way up the driveway. Charlotte was loading up her car with the crates of eggs.

“How’s the princess?” she asked with a laugh. “Char, don’t,” I warned.

“What? I told ya she don’t belong here.”

I rubbed my brow and let out a deep sigh. “Because she didn’t like falling into a pit of dead animals?”

“I mean, that part was gross, and I’d be disgusted too. But animals die all the time out here. is isn’t her world, Calvin. Can’t you see that?” Char tilted her head.

“Maybe it’s not mine either.”

“Don’t say that.” She folded in her lips, waiting for me to speak. When I didn’t, she asked, “How did you not report that pit to animal control earlier?”

“Didn’t see it. I don’t leave this ranch often because I don’t have the time to.

is place takes up most of my life. Too much to look after. Too much to worry about.”

Char gave me a sympathetic look. “I think this place has a hold on you,

Calvin, and you’re punishing yourself for things you had no control over. We’re worried about you.”

“Who’s we?”

“Betty, myself, and Joe too, I’m sure.” Charlotte placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.” Her hand grazed the side of my face, and when she looked at me, there was an intensity beneath her eyes. I had seen it once before, and I knew what it meant . . . to her. But I didn’t feel the same way.

I turned my head and let her hand fall away.

Char nished loading the last crate into the back of her car and looked to me.

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” she said, closing the trunk of her car. I drew my brows together. “Saturday?”

“Yeah, Calvin. Your birthday barbecue bash. I told you months ago you

weren’t spending it alone, and you agreed.” She dusted her hands o and walked to the driver’s side door.

“Shit. I completely forgot.”

“You’re the only person I know under the age of forty that forgets about their birthday. It’s weird,” Char said, getting into her car.

“It’s not weird. It’s just another day.”

“Will Little Miss New York be in attendance?” Charlotte smirked.

“If she’s still here, I’m sure. Might have scared her o with that elk cemetery.” I kicked at the gravel.

“One can hope,” she said with a laugh. “Char, come on. Be nice. For me?”

“Fine, I’ll be nice—only for you.” Char tilted her head. “Speaking of nice. Would you be so kind as to come over and x the leaky pipe under my sink? Pretty please,” she begged, pushing out her lower lip.

“Of course.”

“You’re the best, Calvin.” She closed her car door, and I headed toward my

truck.

Char rolled down the window and called out. “Hey, Calvin.” I turned back. “Yeah.”

“ ere’s something I want to talk to you about after she leaves.”

I shifted my stance and slid a hand into my front pocket. “You can tell me now.”

“No, it can wait.” Charlotte turned the key in the ignition. “What if she doesn’t leave?” I said with a laugh, only half joking.

She put the car in drive and looked over at me. “ en I’ll throw her out myself.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment but then she ashed a smile that could only best be described as sinister.